Realms of Light (21 page)

“Yes, Mis’ Hsing,” it said. “They will be
seen to immediately.”

Floaters aren’t exactly known for accurately
simulating emotions such as surprise, but I still thought this one
seemed to be prepared for my request. The ship had probably been in
communication with the planetary networks before we landed.

“I expect you to be discreet,” I said.

“We have strict instructions that everything
about you and your activities is to be treated as confidential,” it
assured me.

“Good.”

“You have an appointment with Yoshio Nakada
in forty minutes. He trusts you will be prompt.”

I stopped blinking and stared at the floater,
my eyes starting to water. “Forty minutes?”

“Yes.”

I had half expected him to be waiting on the
landing field, but apparently he was in less of a hurry than I had
thought. That meant I could oversee loading Dad and ’Chan into
medical transports, and I could promise Dad that he would be going
into a dreamtank as soon as we were sure he was healthy. Which
wasn’t necessarily true, since that hadn’t been included in the
agreement I made with the old man, but it kept everyone calm.

Singh was in the airlock when the medics
left, staring out at the daylight. I realized he had probably never
seen daylight first-hand before. We watched them go, and then Singh
asked, “What about me?”

“Mis’ Nakada would appreciate it if you would
remain aboard the ship for the present,” the blue-and-silver
floater said.

“Am I being held?”

“Technically, you are trespassing, so the
Nakadas would be within their rights to hold you. Mis’ Nakada would
prefer to keep this friendly, however.”

“Friendly sounds good to me.” Singh turned
and headed back into the ship, probably looking for a snack, or
hoping to talk Perkins into a game of something. I suspected he
would just as soon wait until dark before venturing out into the
thick, cool air of Prometheus.

And then it was time for me to head out to my
appointment. Three floaters escorted me across the field and
through a few corridors to a pleasant little office where daytime
cloudscapes drifted across the walls, but where there were no
actual windows.

The floaters waited at the door, and once I
was inside the door snapped shut, locking them out and me in. I
guessed the office was a secured area, and the floaters didn’t have
clearance to enter.

In fact, I was
sure
the office was a
secured area; the old man would scarcely have talked to me anywhere
else. At least we weren’t meeting in a dressing room somewhere.

Yoshio Nakada was waiting for me, sitting
comfortably in a big black chair that made him look small and old
and harmless—probably deliberately. A small desktop floated by his
right hand.

Nobody looks small to me, though, and I knew
he wasn’t harmless. I stepped in and stood there, waiting for him
to speak first.

“Mis’ Hsing,” he said. “I see you have
successfully collected your retainer.”

“I have,” I agreed. “Thank you. I trust their
medical needs are being seen to, and my father will be installed in
a dreamtank here?”

“They are. You don’t mind, then, if Guohan
Hsing is once again removed from your life?”

I shrugged. “That’s what he wants. I respect
my ancestor’s wishes.”

He nodded. “I expected nothing less. When you
required his safety as part of your fee I assumed either familial
duty or familial affection was basic to your character, and I
thought duty more likely.”

I didn’t reply, and he continued, “You have
left me with a mess to clean up, though—contracts broken, property
stolen or destroyed, serious criminal charges.”

“I know. I assume you can manage it.”

“Of course I can. I would have preferred a
tidier retrieval, though.”

“I thought you were in a hurry.”

“I am. Are you ready to begin your
investigation, then?”

Since he knew something of what had happened
on Epimetheus I had assumed he had kept himself informed about all
of it, but maybe I’d misjudged, or maybe someone had been
interfering, and he really didn’t know all of what I’d done in
Nightside City. “I already began it,” I said.

That did not seem to surprise him any more
than my agreeing to put my father back in a tank had. “Are you
prepared to report any results?”

“I am prepared to discuss the situation, Mis’
Nakada. I have questions I need answered.”

“I will try to answer them, then.” He
gestured toward a chair, which floated up behind me. I settled into
it.

“Did you know that everyone on Epimetheus
thinks you’re dead?” I asked.

He frowned. “You’re sure?”

“Oh, very sure.”

“I had hoped that the reports had been
hacked.”

I shook my head. “Not about that,” I said.
“Your death is all over the nets. Died in your sleep, cause
undetermined. The newsies wanted to know what the hell I was doing
with a dead man’s ship.”

“That must have been inconvenient.”

“I managed.”

“Do you know the origin of the false report
of my death?”

“Here,” I said, pointing at the floor.
“Somewhere in American City, and someone with access to your
private nets.”

“You think it’s related to the attempt on my
life.”

It wasn’t a question, but I said, “Probably,
yes. Are you negotiating the purchase of Seventh Heaven
Neurosurgery?”

He tilted his head to one side. “I am not,”
he said.

“Someone here is. The buyer’s human agent is
Chantilly Rhee.”

That appeared to surprise him—his eyes
widened slightly. “I know Mis’ Rhee,” he said.

“So I assumed.”

“I will not insult you by asking whether you
are sure, but are you certain she is aware of her involvement?”

“No,” I acknowledged. “Identity theft is
definitely a possibility.”

“Is this planned purchase related to the
sabotage of my dream enhancer?”

“I don’t know yet. It may be.”

“The negotiations are taking place on
Epimetheus?”

“I think so.”

“Mis’ Rhee has not left Prometheus since the
attempt on my life. I have kept very careful track of everyone in
the family compound.”

“That assumes your surveillance software
hasn’t been compromised.”

“True.”

“I never said she was the buyer, though.
She’s listed as the agent, not the principal.”

“You think my daughter is the principal?”

I noticed he took it for granted I knew who
Chantilly Rhee worked for. “I don’t know,” I said. “Until this
meeting, I wasn’t sure
you
weren’t the principal.”

“While I am familiar with Seventh Heaven
Neurosurgery, I decided some time ago that it was not a sound
investment.”

“I know,” I said. “Poor long-term prospects.
But you might have reconsidered.”

“I haven’t.”

“
Someone
here thinks it’s worth
buying, though.”

“Or worth appearing to want, at any
rate.”

“Or that.”

“You seem to have learned some interesting
things on Epimetheus, but I fail to see a connection to what I
hired you to investigate.”

“I don’t know the link,” I said. “Maybe there
isn’t one, but maybe there is. There’s definitely a connection
between Seventh Heaven and the false report of your death.”

“Is there?”

“Yes. And that report scrolling past right
after the attempt on your life would be one hell of a coincidence.”
I think he expected me to explain how the Seventh Heaven deal was
related, but I didn’t feel like explaining the business with the
ITEOD files.

“You said the false report came from
Prometheus.”

“It did.”

“But the negotiations with Seventh Heaven are
being conducted on Epimetheus?”

“Oh, there’s definitely been activity on both
planets.”

“Then if these events
are
connected, I
am dealing with a conspiracy, and not a lone assassin.”

“Well, it’s not a single individual, acting
entirely alone,” I agreed. “But your assassin might just have hired
help. Or bought it.”

“Ah. Software might be conducting the
negotiations with Seventh Heaven.”

“Yes. And software might have made the phony
death report.”

“Interesting.”

“Do you have any idea why anyone would want
to buy Seventh Heaven?”

“Just the local franchise, or the parent
company?”

“The local franchise. I don’t care about
anything on Mars, or anywhere else outside our system.”

He shook his head. “Their prospects are not
good. The resident population of Nightside City is less than half
what it was before the first light topped the crater wall, and
those who remain are more likely to invest in a ticket off-planet
than in a dream company’s services. They have failed to establish
themselves anywhere else in the Eta Cass system, not even elsewhere
on Epimetheus; the franchise operators don’t seem to have
considered it worth investing the necessary capital, and the costs
to start now would be prohibitive. Seventh Heaven’s present
business model has no future, and I am unaware of any plans to
refocus their resources.”

“Oh, I know no one’s stupid enough to want
them as they are now,” I said. “I was thinking about whether they
have anything that could be valuable in some completely different
way. Their dream library, maybe?”

“Their library is unremarkable,” the old man
said.

I didn’t bother asking how he could be sure,
or what standards he used to evaluate it; I didn’t doubt he knew
what he was talking about. Instead I asked, “What else do they
have?”

“You believe this is relevant?”

“It might be. I don’t know. If I can show
that it isn’t, that’s one less dead link to explore.”

He considered for a moment, then said, “Their
assets consist of the tanks, which have no obvious use other than
their present one; the trust fund that is intended to fund
maintenance until their last client dies; the dream library; a
diminished sales staff; long-term leases on property in Trap Under;
and their client contracts. The sales staff and library are
completely unremarkable.”

“That trust fund—is that worth chasing?”

“Not unless they intend to murder all their
clients.”

I felt a chill at that, and Grandfather
Nakada must have read it on my face. “That isn’t a viable option,”
he said. “While it’s true that their client base has little
connection to the outside world, all deaths are reported to the
city authorities—by the tanks, not by the personnel—and any
suspicious increase in mortality would be noticed.”

“You’re assuming they don’t hack the tanks to
prevent the death reports.”

“Mis’ Hsing, if the deaths aren’t reported,
the trust fund won’t be released.”

“Could they bribe the city authorities to
ignore suspicions?”

“Of course they could, but corruption always
carries some risk, and the amount in the trust fund would not
justify that risk—it would barely cover the bribes. What’s more,
some of the clients left family behind who would not be so easily
silenced.”

I had to admit that it didn’t sound like a
good reason to buy the company. I wondered where those black
floaters that had helped me get my father out fit in; did the
buyers
want
the clients to be removed? Would that free up
the trust fund?

But they couldn’t count on clients to have
crazy relatives. That wasn’t it.

From Yoshio’s list, that left the leases and
the contracts.

“Is space in Trap Under at a premium, maybe?”
I asked. “Do people think it’ll be protected from the sun?”

“It
will
be protected from the sun,”
the old man answered, “but no, it isn’t particularly valuable.
There’s more than enough space available, and new tunnels can be
bored cheaply enough. The city’s economy is based on a liveable
external environment; if it has to move underground it won’t be any
different than any of the mining towns further out on the night
side, except that there’s nothing worth mining. The tourist trade
will disappear, and most of the miners will make do with their own
casinos and entertainments.”

That left the contracts.

The old man came to the same conclusion, and
before I could ask a question he said, “The client contracts are
more of a liability than an asset. The money has already been paid
in, and what’s left is the obligation to care for and entertain the
clients.”

I knew he was right, but I thought there was
something there we were missing. Those black floaters—
had
they deliberately been helping me get Dad out of there? They didn’t
belong to Seventh Heaven or the Ginza; they belonged to the New
York, which meant the Nakadas, which probably meant whoever was
backing Corporate Initiatives. The buyers had helped me kidnap one
of the clients—what did that mean?

Did they want Dad out of his tank? If so,
why? What did a Nakada want with him?

Whatever it was, I had brought him straight
to the Nakada family’s private compound.

“Where’s my father?” I asked.

“Medical services, I assume.”

“Could you check?”

If I had to describe Nakada’s expression I
would call it “bemused.” He didn’t say anything; he turned to his
desktop and pressed a thumb on a reader.

The seascape that had filled the display
vanished, and menus appeared. He gestured, then read the
results.

“He’s in medical services, undergoing an
examination.”

“Who has access to the exam results?”

The old man’s expression changed, so slightly
I wasn’t entirely sure at first I hadn’t imagined it. “That’s a
very interesting question,” he replied. He reached up to the back
of his neck, and I realized for the first time that he was jacked
in, and the desktop was for my benefit, not his. He’d found my
question interesting enough to drop the grit.